Written November 29, 2010
Posted July 26, 2014
The best part of spending four days with our one-year-old grandson, Gabriel, was graduating to "favored status"! He toddled up to me while I was cooking in the kitchen and grabbed my legs, wanting up -- a miracle in itself, since we only get to see him about once a month! Seeing this, ten-month-old Eligh, not to be outdone, made a beeline for me on all fours, pulling herself up my legs and begging to be held. The cousins had a heated fracas (both verbally and physically) over "whose" Grammey I really was! After enjoying the standoff between the two tenacious toddlers for a few seconds, with a glad heart and smile on my face, I picked them BOTH up, which was an immediate panacea. Does life get any better than this?
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Ticket, Ticket! Who's Got the Ticket?
Written April 13, 2013
Posted July 26, 2014
I’ll venture to guess that no teacher has an ISAT story to tell like the one I have to tell! George (not his real name) is a good boy and a student whom I really like. Elva, the other proctor, had given George his ISAT ticket to log in. We write students’ scores on the ticket when they finish, and then we file each one’s ticket. It is CRITICAL that we get these tickets collected. Well, when it came time to collect George's ticket, he didn't have it. We looked under his table, under his keyboard, under his computer, had him check his pockets, practically turned the room (and George) upside down. NO TICKET!!! George told us with a straight face that he "didn't know what had happened to it."
Elva and I knew we were going to be in BIG trouble! We dug through the GROSS stuff in both trash cans -- YUCK! We were sweating bullets! We called George out of the classroom he had gone to and had him check his pockets once again. Still no ticket! We were as nervous and upset as two cats on a hot tin roof! Feathers (and trash) were flying! We checked with the boy on his right. The boy on his right knew nothing. The boy on George's left had already gone back to class. With earnestness, we called the office and had them locate the “boy on the left” and asked them to send him back to the testing center. After he arrived, we asked if he knew anything about that ticket.
The boy on the left, much to our RELIEF, said, "Yes, I do." (Sighs streamed in unison from Elva’s and my lips!)
"Where is it?!!!?" we cried.
"He wrapped his gum in it," said the boy, undaunted.
Back to George's classroom flew I (with the blessed stool pigeon in tow), leaving Elva with the kids who were still testing.
"Where is the ticket?" I asked George once again (just to see what he would say with the boy on the left standing next to me).
"I don't know," George answered once again.
Turning to our informant, I instructed him to tell George what he had seen him do with the ticket. The boy on the left proceeded to look George square in the eye and told him what he had seen.
George put his head down and slumped his shoulders in defeat.
"Where is the ticket, George?" (softly)
George bent down and pulled the gummed-up ticket from the inside of his shoe and handed it to me.
"Oh, George!" I whispered. “Why did you lie to us?”
“I didn’t want to get in trouble.”
I then gave the normal lecture that one would give at a time like that and told him how disappointed I was because I knew he was a good boy.
George apologized profusely.
I let him go back to class, excused the boy on the left and went to work on the ticket – opening it up, peeling the sticky, goopy, slobbery unrelenting gum off as best I could, and fashioning a new back with another piece of paper so it would not stick to the other tickets.
Mystery solved. All tickets accounted for. Elva and I would sleep well.
The next morning, while I was on bus duty, George got off the bus and headed straight toward me with an outstretched arm.
“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Snyder,” he said, as he humbly handed me two folded pieces of paper – one with my name, and one with Elva’s.
After all the students passed by, I opened the unsolicited note and read, “Dear Mrs. Snyder, I apoligize for the immaturness I showed during ISATS. I should have told the truth right away but I didn’t. I lied a lot of times. This experience taught me a big lesson, a difficult way though. The lesson this experenice taught me was to always say the truth no matter how big the proplem is because the lies don’t lead you to anything. I feel like I have disappointed you. I hope you accept my apoligy.”
I told George that I had forgiven him, and that he and I would start that day with a fresh, clean slate.
I love George.
And I love my job.
Posted July 26, 2014
I’ll venture to guess that no teacher has an ISAT story to tell like the one I have to tell! George (not his real name) is a good boy and a student whom I really like. Elva, the other proctor, had given George his ISAT ticket to log in. We write students’ scores on the ticket when they finish, and then we file each one’s ticket. It is CRITICAL that we get these tickets collected. Well, when it came time to collect George's ticket, he didn't have it. We looked under his table, under his keyboard, under his computer, had him check his pockets, practically turned the room (and George) upside down. NO TICKET!!! George told us with a straight face that he "didn't know what had happened to it."
Elva and I knew we were going to be in BIG trouble! We dug through the GROSS stuff in both trash cans -- YUCK! We were sweating bullets! We called George out of the classroom he had gone to and had him check his pockets once again. Still no ticket! We were as nervous and upset as two cats on a hot tin roof! Feathers (and trash) were flying! We checked with the boy on his right. The boy on his right knew nothing. The boy on George's left had already gone back to class. With earnestness, we called the office and had them locate the “boy on the left” and asked them to send him back to the testing center. After he arrived, we asked if he knew anything about that ticket.
The boy on the left, much to our RELIEF, said, "Yes, I do." (Sighs streamed in unison from Elva’s and my lips!)
"Where is it?!!!?" we cried.
"He wrapped his gum in it," said the boy, undaunted.
Back to George's classroom flew I (with the blessed stool pigeon in tow), leaving Elva with the kids who were still testing.
"Where is the ticket?" I asked George once again (just to see what he would say with the boy on the left standing next to me).
"I don't know," George answered once again.
Turning to our informant, I instructed him to tell George what he had seen him do with the ticket. The boy on the left proceeded to look George square in the eye and told him what he had seen.
George put his head down and slumped his shoulders in defeat.
"Where is the ticket, George?" (softly)
George bent down and pulled the gummed-up ticket from the inside of his shoe and handed it to me.
"Oh, George!" I whispered. “Why did you lie to us?”
“I didn’t want to get in trouble.”
I then gave the normal lecture that one would give at a time like that and told him how disappointed I was because I knew he was a good boy.
George apologized profusely.
I let him go back to class, excused the boy on the left and went to work on the ticket – opening it up, peeling the sticky, goopy, slobbery unrelenting gum off as best I could, and fashioning a new back with another piece of paper so it would not stick to the other tickets.
Mystery solved. All tickets accounted for. Elva and I would sleep well.
The next morning, while I was on bus duty, George got off the bus and headed straight toward me with an outstretched arm.
“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Snyder,” he said, as he humbly handed me two folded pieces of paper – one with my name, and one with Elva’s.
After all the students passed by, I opened the unsolicited note and read, “Dear Mrs. Snyder, I apoligize for the immaturness I showed during ISATS. I should have told the truth right away but I didn’t. I lied a lot of times. This experience taught me a big lesson, a difficult way though. The lesson this experenice taught me was to always say the truth no matter how big the proplem is because the lies don’t lead you to anything. I feel like I have disappointed you. I hope you accept my apoligy.”
I told George that I had forgiven him, and that he and I would start that day with a fresh, clean slate.
I love George.
And I love my job.
Scotty
Traffic was backed up more than a mile. We knew we were going to be late. I was with my granddaughter Hayley. We had anticipated this event for months, having purchased seats on the floor, ten rows away from the stage.
We were going to be close enough to see his freckles!
They called it a "Brad Paisley" concert ...
but I wasn't there to see Brad.
I was there to see Brad's opening act -- Scotty McCreery, an unassuming boy from North Carolina with short hair and a plaid cotton shirt!
How I admired that young man, even though I had never met him!
I had noticed something special in that boy since I first laid eyes on him as he stepped before the American Idol judges a few months earlier.
Week after week, during Season 10, Scotty's deep, rich vocals deeply moved his audiences and frequently raised them to their feet in applause.
But, more than his incredible pipes ...
... this boy had humility.
That is what won my heart!
Kindness oozed from him. His eyes twinkled.
Scotty was 100% genuine...
... every single time.
As Scotty made it through one cut after the other, I teased my17-year-old granddaughter about "snagging" him as a boyfriend, amidst giggles and protests!
She was a follower of Jesus.
I was "sure" he must be a follower too.
Hayley was a country girl.
He was a country boy.
They were close to the same age.
Why not??? They were clearly a match made in heaven!
During the televised competition, I looked forward to Wednesday and Thursday nights, and was always happy with the results ...
... because Scotty always made it through!
He took the judges' criticism with a great attitude -- never becoming defensive -- which endeared me to him all the more.
What a sweet spirit! And even though he didn't speak openly about his faith, I noticed that he always wore a cross (not that that is a guarantee) ... but I "saw" Jesus in him.
He didn't appear to be over-the-top "driven" to win the title.
Rather, he seemed to have a give-it-or-take-it attitude while enjoying his season in the sun.
He was just ...
... Scotty.
When he acknowledged his grandma in the middle of one of his songs, it reduced this grandma to tears! What kind of teenager recognizes his GRANDMOTHER at a cut-throat competition on national TV???
That did it! I made it my personal ambition to help him win this thing!
Each week, I voted over the telephone and then cast my ballot over the Internet multiple times!
It worked! Scotty won! And I felt like I had singlehandedly made it happen!
Now, here I was ... caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic that was not budging ... waiting to see this wholesome country boy whom I had grown to love.
We could see the stadium from where we sat ...
...there on the road in motionless traffic.
The thought of being that close, yet missing the opening act, drummed up anguish unspeakable!
I had to restrain myself to keep from jumping out of Hayley's Bronco, leaving her behind to deal with the congestion, and making a mad dash over the fence and through the car lot to the arena!
What a tragedy to be this close to seeing Scotty, and then to be stuck with "just" Brad Paisley! (No offense, Brad!)
Well, I didn't desert my granddaughter -- that wouldn't have been nice.
What seemed like hours later, we pulled into the parking lot, found a spot, and dashed to the entrance.
When we entered the main floor, there was Scotty, as big as life, singing his heart out. We found our way to our seats and began to clap along to the beat. Electricity was zipping through the air -- other people appeared to love Scotty as much as I did!
Because of the traffic jam, and the lateness of our arrival, Hayley and I missed most of the pre-show. Scotty sang one more song after we sat down, and then it was time to be graced with Brad's presence. Brad put on a good show. The audience roared throughout his performance. Feeling somewhat despondent that I had missed most of Scotty's time, it did my heart good to see Hayley enjoying the guy whom she had gone to see.
But there was a great surprise waiting for me! Just as Brad was winding down his show, he asked us if we wanted to see Scotty again. Well, as you can imagine, I perked up! Out came Scotty! He and Brad sang a couple of duets together and really worked the crowd by trailing up and down the runway.
We were so close! Just a few seats away from the runway!
THIS is where the story gets GOOD!
Scotty and Brad outdid themselves, thrilling the audience by singing up a storm! At the end, they both took trips down the runway -- right next to where we were sitting! I couldn't believe my eyes as I saw Scotty coming right toward me with his hand out! Yes, he did! He swept his hand across the flood of hands that were outstretched, and he was heading my way! My heart began to race! I hope he touches my hand, I thought as I stuck mine way up there to ensure it would happen. The thought occurred to me that I was being ridiculous, acting way out of character, but I quickly dismissed it and stretched my hand even further, waving it into the air.
Sure enough, it happened! Scotty McCreery touched MY hand! His fingertips felt so ... well ... so HUMAN! I was momentarily delighted beyond words. But then ...
... it hit.
Wait a minute, Scotty! Come back here! I'm not like all these other people! I drove all the way to Boise not to see Brad, but to see YOU! You can't just walk away like that! I VOTED for you as many times as I could to help you win! I like you for the sweet boy you are inside -- not just because you are a good singer! I deserve more than a token touch! If you only knew!
Then, in the cacophonic din of the roaring audience, I heard a still, small, inaudible (yet very real) voice from deep within my soul.
The Voice said, "Yes, I know. It hurts, doesn't it."
What? Is that you, Lord?
"I sing over you while you sleep.
I kiss you at dawn with the rising sun.
I send angels to keep you from stumbling throughout the day.
I extend grace each time you fall short of My glory.
I adopted you and have given you an inheritance. You are my beloved daughter.
I saw you crying the other day. I lifted your head and dried your tears.
You know that delicate yellow bird that surprised you in the garden? I sent that winged friend to delight you.
Remember the tiny earring that has been missing for two years? I led you right to it the other day.
I put your messed-up life back together. Remember?
Am I not faithful to give you the exact verses you need to help navigate life when you open your Bible searching for direction?
I watch your comings and goings throughout each day with great interest. You bring me joy, precious daughter, when you aren't even 'aware' of my presence.
And I hold you close to My heart as you sleep, humming a nocturnal melody in the moonlight of your room ... for I never slumber.
Oh, my daughter, how I long for more than a 'token touch' from you!"
So there, in the midst of thousands of cheering fans, I heard God's voice ... and something changed in me.
"Grammey! Grammey! Did you see that??? Brad Paisley just touched my hand!!!" Hayley screamed enthusiastically.
"Yes, honey," I smiled, hugging her and looking past the crowd, seeing only my Savior's face. "I saw that," I whispered, as we turned and moved along with the flow of fans who were exiting the stadium.
We were going to be close enough to see his freckles!
They called it a "Brad Paisley" concert ...
but I wasn't there to see Brad.
I was there to see Brad's opening act -- Scotty McCreery, an unassuming boy from North Carolina with short hair and a plaid cotton shirt!
How I admired that young man, even though I had never met him!
I had noticed something special in that boy since I first laid eyes on him as he stepped before the American Idol judges a few months earlier.
Week after week, during Season 10, Scotty's deep, rich vocals deeply moved his audiences and frequently raised them to their feet in applause.
But, more than his incredible pipes ...
... this boy had humility.
That is what won my heart!
Kindness oozed from him. His eyes twinkled.
Scotty was 100% genuine...
... every single time.
As Scotty made it through one cut after the other, I teased my17-year-old granddaughter about "snagging" him as a boyfriend, amidst giggles and protests!
She was a follower of Jesus.
I was "sure" he must be a follower too.
Hayley was a country girl.
He was a country boy.
They were close to the same age.
Why not??? They were clearly a match made in heaven!
During the televised competition, I looked forward to Wednesday and Thursday nights, and was always happy with the results ...
... because Scotty always made it through!
He took the judges' criticism with a great attitude -- never becoming defensive -- which endeared me to him all the more.
What a sweet spirit! And even though he didn't speak openly about his faith, I noticed that he always wore a cross (not that that is a guarantee) ... but I "saw" Jesus in him.
He didn't appear to be over-the-top "driven" to win the title.
Rather, he seemed to have a give-it-or-take-it attitude while enjoying his season in the sun.
He was just ...
... Scotty.
When he acknowledged his grandma in the middle of one of his songs, it reduced this grandma to tears! What kind of teenager recognizes his GRANDMOTHER at a cut-throat competition on national TV???
That did it! I made it my personal ambition to help him win this thing!
Each week, I voted over the telephone and then cast my ballot over the Internet multiple times!
It worked! Scotty won! And I felt like I had singlehandedly made it happen!
Now, here I was ... caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic that was not budging ... waiting to see this wholesome country boy whom I had grown to love.
We could see the stadium from where we sat ...
...there on the road in motionless traffic.
The thought of being that close, yet missing the opening act, drummed up anguish unspeakable!
I had to restrain myself to keep from jumping out of Hayley's Bronco, leaving her behind to deal with the congestion, and making a mad dash over the fence and through the car lot to the arena!
What a tragedy to be this close to seeing Scotty, and then to be stuck with "just" Brad Paisley! (No offense, Brad!)
Well, I didn't desert my granddaughter -- that wouldn't have been nice.
What seemed like hours later, we pulled into the parking lot, found a spot, and dashed to the entrance.
When we entered the main floor, there was Scotty, as big as life, singing his heart out. We found our way to our seats and began to clap along to the beat. Electricity was zipping through the air -- other people appeared to love Scotty as much as I did!
Because of the traffic jam, and the lateness of our arrival, Hayley and I missed most of the pre-show. Scotty sang one more song after we sat down, and then it was time to be graced with Brad's presence. Brad put on a good show. The audience roared throughout his performance. Feeling somewhat despondent that I had missed most of Scotty's time, it did my heart good to see Hayley enjoying the guy whom she had gone to see.
But there was a great surprise waiting for me! Just as Brad was winding down his show, he asked us if we wanted to see Scotty again. Well, as you can imagine, I perked up! Out came Scotty! He and Brad sang a couple of duets together and really worked the crowd by trailing up and down the runway.
We were so close! Just a few seats away from the runway!
THIS is where the story gets GOOD!
Scotty and Brad outdid themselves, thrilling the audience by singing up a storm! At the end, they both took trips down the runway -- right next to where we were sitting! I couldn't believe my eyes as I saw Scotty coming right toward me with his hand out! Yes, he did! He swept his hand across the flood of hands that were outstretched, and he was heading my way! My heart began to race! I hope he touches my hand, I thought as I stuck mine way up there to ensure it would happen. The thought occurred to me that I was being ridiculous, acting way out of character, but I quickly dismissed it and stretched my hand even further, waving it into the air.
Sure enough, it happened! Scotty McCreery touched MY hand! His fingertips felt so ... well ... so HUMAN! I was momentarily delighted beyond words. But then ...
... it hit.
Wait a minute, Scotty! Come back here! I'm not like all these other people! I drove all the way to Boise not to see Brad, but to see YOU! You can't just walk away like that! I VOTED for you as many times as I could to help you win! I like you for the sweet boy you are inside -- not just because you are a good singer! I deserve more than a token touch! If you only knew!
Then, in the cacophonic din of the roaring audience, I heard a still, small, inaudible (yet very real) voice from deep within my soul.
The Voice said, "Yes, I know. It hurts, doesn't it."
What? Is that you, Lord?
"I sing over you while you sleep.
I kiss you at dawn with the rising sun.
I send angels to keep you from stumbling throughout the day.
I extend grace each time you fall short of My glory.
I adopted you and have given you an inheritance. You are my beloved daughter.
I saw you crying the other day. I lifted your head and dried your tears.
You know that delicate yellow bird that surprised you in the garden? I sent that winged friend to delight you.
Remember the tiny earring that has been missing for two years? I led you right to it the other day.
I put your messed-up life back together. Remember?
Am I not faithful to give you the exact verses you need to help navigate life when you open your Bible searching for direction?
I watch your comings and goings throughout each day with great interest. You bring me joy, precious daughter, when you aren't even 'aware' of my presence.
And I hold you close to My heart as you sleep, humming a nocturnal melody in the moonlight of your room ... for I never slumber.
Oh, my daughter, how I long for more than a 'token touch' from you!"
So there, in the midst of thousands of cheering fans, I heard God's voice ... and something changed in me.
"Grammey! Grammey! Did you see that??? Brad Paisley just touched my hand!!!" Hayley screamed enthusiastically.
"Yes, honey," I smiled, hugging her and looking past the crowd, seeing only my Savior's face. "I saw that," I whispered, as we turned and moved along with the flow of fans who were exiting the stadium.
Making a Beautiful World
I recently saw a video about a man who was going around "making his world beautiful" by touching the lives of others in small ways. My mother-in-law and I were
cared for by such a man tonight! She
fell in the Ridleys parking lot and caught herself halfway down. While she clutched onto the car fender, I
struggled to hold her up, but I was not much help. In fact, she urgently pled with me, “Don’t
help me! Don’t help me!” (My assistance was clearly more of a
hindrance than a help!) We were in a
fine pickle! One false move by either of
us, and she would have gone all the way down, with me landing on top of
her! Suddenly, out of NOWHERE -- I mean
that literally -- came a sweet, precious, very OBSERVANT man!
He
positioned himself beneath her and pushed her all the way up, and then he kept
her steady while she shuffled to the car door.
He helped her get into the car and closed the door. I thanked him profusely and asked God (aloud)
to BLESS him! I could tell he could not
understand a single word I said. While I
was trying to talk to him, he walked away ... but not completely away! He walked to the other side of the car and
began to unload all of my groceries from the cart into the back seat!!! I stood there stunned!
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Mary Magdalene
I couldn’t believe it was true. My friends knew I had been suffering. They told me of a man who could help me –
that He had healed others of evil spirits and sicknesses. How I wanted it to be true, for seven demons
had been tormenting me day and night (Luke 8:2). But I was just a “nobody.” Why would a stranger care about my
problem? But I had to see Him with my
own eyes … just in case my friends were right.
And so I went to Him. I thought
He might turn away. I wouldn’t have
blamed Him because, with my disheveled hair and twisted face, I was nothing
much to look at! But this Man was
undaunted. He fixed His eyes on me and I
felt the most incredible sense of love pouring from Him. I trembled as He extended his gentle hand in
my direction. When He touched me, I felt
His power! Something had changed! The tension was gone and I felt my contorted
face fall back into smooth lines. I was overcome with emotion and couldn’t speak,
as tears splashed onto my lap. I don’t
know what happened, but I felt brand new!
My tormentors were gone, never to return again. This Jesus had lifted me from my agony and
had given me joy unspeakable! I purposed
in my heart to follow Him forever!
And that I did! My
friends and I went everywhere with Jesus and His disciples, and we gave
lavishly to help support them as they reached out and touched others (Luke
8:3). That was the least we could
do! After all, we owed a debt that we
could not pay for all He had done for us.
A lot of stories have been told about Peter, James, John, and the
others, and that is okay. Even though
our work was less visible, it was just as important! We were content to work behind the scenes,
just to serve the One who loved us.
Time and time again, we watched Jesus heal sickness,
raise the dead, and forgive sin. This
was no ordinary man! He accepted
everyone, no matter who they were; and one-by-one, people let Him into their
hearts and changed their sinful ways.
This was a good man in whom there was no guile. I wanted the whole world to know Him!
How stunned I was, then, when I heard that Jesus had been
arrested and beaten! Who would do such a
thing to love personified? There must
have been a mistake, I told myself!
Surely they had confused Him with someone else! But that was not the case. This was the man the crowd wanted to crucify
on a cross! We watched in horror as they
mockingly draped a scarlet robe over our Master’s shoulders and placed a crown
of thorns on His head. We followed from
a distance as they led Him away to crucify Him… and then we watched our Lord
suffer a devastating death on a cruel cross.
Words can’t express the emotion I felt. I cringed with the pounding of each nail, and
I looked around with dismay at the laughter of the cold, hardened crowd. I fell to the ground, gasping for breath as
my body heaved with grief. Darkness fell
over the whole land – and over my broken heart.
My Lord was unrecognizable when I heard Him cry out to His Father and
breathe His last (Mark 15:33-34, 37). I
heard Him say, “It is finished.” When
the centurion saw the resulting earthquake and the things that were happening,
he became very frightened and said, “Truly this was the Son of God!” But it was too late. My Lord was gone, and my life was over.
Or was it? For as
it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, my friends and I had gone to
look at His grave. What we saw was
unbelievable! There sat an angel on the
stone that had been rolled away! His
appearance was like lightning and his clothing as white as snow! The guards passed out, and we were ready to
run! Then the angel spoke to us telling
us not to be afraid. He said that he
knew we were looking for Jesus. He told
us that Jesus was not there, for He had risen, just as He said He would
do. We noticed that Jesus was not lying
where they had placed him, and our hearts leapt with joy! We ran as quickly as our legs would carry us
to tell the disciples that He had risen from the dead.
As we were running, we beheld the glory of our Lord! It was HE who approached us!!! Overflowing with joy, we took hold of His
feet, fell down and worshiped Him. Then
Jesus said to us, “Do not be afraid; go and take word to My brethren to leave
for Galilee, and there they will see Me” (Matthew 28:1-10). When I reached the disciples who were
mourning and weeping, and told them He was alive and that I had seen Him, they
refused to believe me (Mark 16:9-11) … until they themselves saw Him with their
own eyes! What a glorious day that was!
Jesus had conquered death … and now He lives on … as we
give love to one another. Our Lord had
RISEN – proving by His resurrection that He was who He said He was – the very
Son of God! Hallelujah!
Saturday, March 9, 2013
White Space
1) We made the final decision; retirement is on the horizon.
2) The Campbells are moving to another state.
3) The Thompsons are moving to another country.
4) An intense and rewarding children's ministry has come to an end.
Did I say "Retirement"? Why now? And now what?
Four major life changes converged within a two-week period, threatening to shake my very foundation. My head is still spinning! Almost every shred of identity – gone in one fell swoop!
I am clearly on the precipice of something new.
It isn’t “easy” being on the precipice of something new. We like the status quo, right?
It’s, well, “comfortable” when our story doesn’t change. We do like to take the pen away from the Author of our script occasionally and insert our own "benign" punctuation, don't we!
For instance …
… we like commas. We like to “just keep on going” because it feels safe, familiar, and “comfortable.” (There’s that word again!)
But God may want to insert a period and say, “It is time to stop.” And when that period is found at the end of a chapter, what comes next?
White space!
White space??? Could it be that God has penned a period for me … and has lifted His celestial quill…
… to give me white space at the end of a season?
… to give me quality time to seek Him for the contents of the next chapter?
I can almost hear Him whisper, “Pause. Wait. Listen. You’ve been going … and doing … going … and doing … going … and doing. Let me give you a period as you step into the white space of faith, as did my servant Abraham.”
“And Abraham went, not knowing where He was going. Only that He needed to obey for the promise…” Hebrews 11:8.
Abraham trusted his Father, knowing that He had penned the final period of Abraham’s former life.
With unwavering faith, Abraham moved forward, past the white space and into the next chapter of his life.
“As I went before Abraham, I will go before you. Behold, I will do a new thing. Trust Me.”
And so … I am “soon-to-be” still – very still. Retirement.
The din will cease.
I will hear. And I will obey.
And He will turn the page.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Childhood Haven
A paradise on earth! A place of wonder, a place of joy! That was Grandma and Grandad's homestead on the outskirts of "Smalltown," Idaho. As my dad turned our shiny new 1957 Ford up the pebble-paved lane toward the old farmhouse, my heart raced in anticipation of the fun time ahead. Turning onto the dusty driveway, I beheld their little log house shaded by a jungle of quaking aspens. The leaves quivered and rustled in the breeze with the muffled din of a hushed audience before the play begins. Scattered throughout the large aspen were pine trees that firmly stood as bulwark giants pointing toward heaven.
Bounding out of the car in little-girl fashion, I hurried toward the walkway, which was surrounded with fluffy, pastel carnations neatly lined up like pretty maidens. Their sweet fragrance permeated the old-fashioned porch that led to the front door, as if to lure me further inside. Eagerly darting through the front door, the flowery scent dissipated as I was overcome with the inviting aroma of Grandma’s homemade rolls. After a few warm, snugly hugs from my apron-clad grandma, she dashed back to her old wood-burning cook stove to finish the meal she was preparing.
Seeing the dust from our arrival, Grandad, in his striped overalls and scruffy beard, began making his way to the house. He usually entered the back door just in time for dinner. Grandad smelled of hard work and Skoal chewing tobacco, and I couldn’t wait to get closer to him! I took a running leap toward his outstretched arms. How I loved to snuggle close to him and just…SNIFF! As I tried to curl up on his bony lap, his whiskers scratched my face, but I didn’t mind. Whisker burns on my cheeks were a symbol of honor, because it meant Grandad loved me!
True to form, Grandma’s piping-hot rolls melted in my mouth. Her cooking was fit for royalty, and the scrumptious meal left me feeling satisfied and ready for a nap.
As the adults sauntered into the living room for a more relaxed visit, I headed for my favorite place to doze: Grandma’s lap! She was as spongy and cushiony as Grandad was hard and stickery. Oh, the comfort of nestling into Grandma’s pillow-like form. The gentle, rhythmic creek of her old gray rocker, mixed with the beat of her heart, lulled me into a hypnotic-like trance. Aunt Marijane softly played “The Old Rugged Cross” and other favorite hymns. As I slumbered against Grandma’s breast, the simple melody of the piano was transformed into a heavenly symphony, and the quiet conversation going on around me was as angels’ voices from afar.
Refreshed from my afternoon snooze, the greatest challenge of my farm experience was to begin. Grandma draped a basket over my arm and sent me on a “treasure hunt” for the next morning’s breakfast. With the driven energy of a pirate in search of a precious stone, I trekked to the favorite hiding places of Grandma’s prized hens. High-spirited after my discoveries, I would proudly present my “egg-shaped” jewels to Grandma and wait for words of praise to stream from her lips.
When it was time for Grandad to trudge out to the pasture and bring in the milk cows, he was accompanied this time by a chattering granddaughter, besides his usual companion, a black cocker spaniel named Sparky. Four of my steps equaled two of Granddad’s. Sparky scurried ahead, stopping periodically to check on us with tongue hanging out and tail wagging, as if urging us to hurry. Along the way, we could hear the quiet lowing of the cattle as they contentedly grazed on the rich green meadow. Grandad’s gruff voice interrupted their blissful indulgence as he hollered “Here, Bossy, Bossy, Bossy!” In a few minutes we heard the familiar “clang, clang, clang,” from the cowbell around Bossy’s neck. This meant the promenade had begun in obedience to Grandad’s call. We turned and headed toward the barn, with the lumbering bovines behind us. As we left the freshly-rained-on grassland and approached the barnyard, the distinct and pleasing whiff of the damp earth, the wet hay, and a cow pie or two, became more dominant.
Once inside the barn, milking time was to me what a trip to Dairy Queen is to kids today. As soon as Grandad lined the cows up in their stalls and pulled out his three-legged stool, I knew it was time for me to scamper into the house and ask Grandma for my little aluminum cup. Back in the barn, with a cheesy grin, I boldly positioned my cup directly under the cow’s udder as Grandad squirted the white frothy liquid into it. It tasted better than a milkshake, and I guzzled to my heart’s delight. Then, for the cherry on top, Grandad pointed the nipple toward me and squirted the raw milk directly into my mouth. Grandad’s barn had Dairy Queen beat without a doubt!
After a day of vigorous exercise, exposure to farm life, and a warm lavender bubble bath, my body felt limp as Grandma lovingly tucked me into bed. Her lilac perfume, mixed with the line-dried sheets, were a sharp (but pleasant) contrast to the outdoor scents I had been enjoying all day. What seemed like seconds later, a friendly salutation awakened me; it was Hector the rooster, who was as dependable as the army bugle boy.
Following a hearty breakfast, we began the daily chores. Grandad, donned in irrigating boots and shovel in hand, lumbered out to the field to dig corrugates with a happy-go-lucky granddaughter skipping alongside him. The deep green, dew-coated alfalfa became an emerald lake as it glistened in the first light of day.
While waiting for Grandad to finish corrugating, I sometimes wandered over to a nearby ditch to watch the industrious water skippers magically scoot from one side of the trench to the other. They seemed to be competing in a rousing sport unknown to the human species. It was grand entertainment for a little girl enchanted with her grandaddy’s farm.
The days ahead were full of numerous adventures that exposed me to “real life” and instilled in me a love for the land. Though a few days later I was back in the 1957 red and white Ford, returning to the doldrums of city life, my heart stubbornly remained behind. A tear dribbled down my cheek as I waved goodbye to my haven on earth. I was sure that I saw Grandma dab at her eyes with her apron too.
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